Coasting (Gold Hockey Book 8)

by Elise Faber

  Those giggles were the best thing he’d ever heard.

  They were a hundred times better than the crowd cheering when he scored, even better than hearing his name called when he’d been drafted.

  Because they were pure Calle.

  And that meant they were solid gold.

  At the end of their struggle, they ended up in a heap on the carpet, Calle sprawled across his chest, the nibbled-on sandwich still gripped in her hand. “I win,” she said proudly, lifting it up like she was hefting the Cup.

  Coop took advantage of her distraction and shot up to sitting, hands coming to her waist to keep her in place as he dropped his mouth to hers.

  “No,” he said when he pulled away. “I’m the one who’s won, sweetheart.”

  Or at least the first battle, anyway.

  Operation Out-Stubborn continued the next day when he waited until Calle was seated in the back of the plane, fully buckled in at the window seat. Excellent (cue Mr. Burns fingers here). Coop got up, walked down the aisle and seated himself directly next to her.

  “I have some questions,” he said, fighting a grin and totally failing.

  Because . . . fuck, he just liked being around her.

  He’d stayed later than he should have the night before, considering the travel day they both had and the extra rest she should be getting.

  Coop had plowed through one pregnancy book to learn that.

  And had six others on his kindle.

  Fuck, pregnancy seemed like a shitty hand to be dealt—nausea, vomiting, no alcohol, shit she couldn’t eat, and then at the end of it, Calle got to push an eight-pound watermelon-shaped object out of her—

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Sitting with the woman I’m in a relationship with,” he said, nonplussed.

  “We’re not—” Her mouth opened and closed a few times. “A relationship— No, that’s not—”

  “Last night, you were in my arms and agreed to give us a shot. Did you change your mind?”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands and for the first time since he’d started down this path, Coop felt a bolt of fear. Had she changed her mind? Fuck that, he wasn’t going to let her change her mind—no fucking way.

  Chocolate eyes drifted back up to his. “No,” she whispered.

  Everything in him settled, and Coop knew his plan was working. He had to keep moving forward, keep pressing until he was so ingrained inside her that she wouldn’t be able to picture a world without him.

  “Good,” he said, leaning down and brushing his lips over hers.

  Which meant that instantly the cabin of the plane was filled with chattering, the gossip train chugging right along as those who could see them were informing those who couldn’t that he’d just kissed Calle.

  In front of everyone.

  Coop figured it was easier that way.

  Everyone now knew and they could move on, not having to hide behind curtains or in the showers, al la Gabe and Nutritionist Rebecca and Stefan and Brit, respectively.

  He loved Calle, no way was he hiding it.

  He. Loved. Calle.

  A bolt of shock hit him in the gut before he settled. Because, of course, he loved Calle. If he didn’t, would he have gone through all of this trouble? Would he have pushed and pressed and been obsessed with anyone less than the woman he loved?

  Fuck, no.

  Coop didn’t court trouble.

  But he sure as shit was going to court Calle.

  Until she fell in love with him right back.

  Fourteen

  Calle

  She glanced up at the knock on the door then down at herself. It was late and she was cramming in a few more hours, trying to lock down the system and any plays that needed tweaking before the next day’s game.

  So, in her pajamas printed with sheep and her baggy hoodie, she wasn’t exactly dressed to impress.

  Setting her notebook aside, she stood and crossed to the door.

  Then was disappointed when it wasn’t Coop on the other side of the door.

  “Stupid,” she muttered. They’d gone their separate ways after grabbing dinner that evening in the hotel restaurant, him to rest up, her . . . well, she’d said she was going to rest up, but it had been a lie as she’d known she was going to come up and work.

  She just hadn’t wanted to get into a discussion about it.

  Not when they’d had a nice conclusion to the night before, and not when the dinner had been filled with laughter and joking. It was so easy to spend time with Coop, and she’d wanted to hold on to that, not prick his protective streak and get into an argument with him.

  “He probably wouldn’t argue,” she muttered, seeing the tray in the worker’s hand outside the door and beginning to unlock the dead bolt.

  She needed to tell him she hadn’t ordered—

  Tugging the handle down, she pulled the panel open, lips parting to tell him he had the wrong room.

  But before she could form words, the hotel employee extended a note.

  Then nudged her to the side and brought the tray in, setting it on the desk next to her work as she tore the note open.

  Because I know you’re working and at least you can fuel up.

  -C

  She folded the paper, turning to frown at the desk and the tray and the employee. Then she blinked and realized she probably needed to tip the man. But when she reached for her purse, he shook his head, told her it had been taken care of, then nudged her back to the side and disappeared into the hall, closing the door with a decisive click.

  Her cell buzzed, and she extracted it from the pocket of her hoodie.

  Coop had texted.

  Did you lock up?

  She sighed, but her lips were twitching.

  It was one time.

  A beat then,

  So, you locked up?

  Calle shook her head, flipped the dead bolt closed along with the lock, and then typed back.

  Yes.

  Good.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip as she made her way over to the desk and felt her heart pulse when she saw the fruit salad.

  Then her cheeks creased when she spied the slice of carrot cake.

  Her favorite.

  Can’t figure out how you think a vegetable is dessert, but enjoy.

  Heart swelling, she replied.

  I’m surprised you didn’t send me a cheesecake so you could live vicariously through me.

  A buzz.

  I was tempted.

  She plucked up a strawberry and bit into the juicy goodness on a moan.

  I wish I was there to lick the taste of what you were eating right off your lips.

  Calle froze, heat arrowing for her center.

  Add in that thing you did with your fingers last time and I’d let you.

  Silence for a long moment.

  Next hotel, I’m finding a way to sneak into your room.

  Why not sneak up now?

  She found herself texting, even though it was late, even though there was a game tomorrow. Desperation was a powerful motivator, especially when Coop had played her body like a violin every single time they were together.

  Bernard’s got the room at the end of the hall and I swear to God he gave me a look when I came back to mine.

  Her mouth quirked up.

  What kind of look?

  A buzz.

  The kind that said he’d kill me if I even thought of walking down the hall to your room. It was the quintessential ‘dad look.’

  She hesitated then,

  A ‘dad look?’

  Definitely a ‘dad look.’ Bernard’s got a soft spot for you.

  Calle scoffed.

  Not sure about that.

  Well, my balls are quite sure about that. Despite being very blue from wanting you, they’re also very scared because they don’t want Bernard removing them from my body. So, let’s agree to disagree and call it very strong ‘dad vibes’.

  She felt a curl of pleasure at t
he notion, especially when it filled a hole inside her, one that had remained open and gaping after her father had left.

  Another buzz.

  Very scary ‘dad vibes.’ But it’s good you have someone looking after you.

  She was just starting to realize how many people were really looking after her. Coop. Bernard. PR Rebecca. Stefan and Brit. The rest of the guys on the team. But really, it all circled back to Coop looking after her. Because he was the one who made her heart feel as though it were pumped full of helium. Especially when his next text said,

  You shouldn’t work too late. The book said that you still need lots of sleep.

  Looking after her. Presumably reading baby books.

  That should be terrifying, but instead, she wanted more.

  Dangerous thinking, dangerous notions, dangerous feelings.

  But that still didn’t stop her from texting.

  If you’d knocked, I would have opened the door.

  And it didn’t stop her from grinning when he replied with,

  Absolutely killing me, sweetheart.

  Two nights later, she shook out her hands, semi-frozen from standing behind on the bench. No matter that she’d spent countless seasons in this position actually sitting on the bench where the players rested between shifts, Calle could never get her bare hands used to the cold.

  Hockey gloves, no problem.

  Bare skin, painful and tingly.

  It was a couple of minutes until puck drop and the Gold were filing out onto the ice, Brit leading the way. Coop was bringing up the rear, and she knew why when he stopped briefly by her, nudging her shoulder with his and lightly patting her belly before he strode out of the hall into view of the cameras and fans.

  A little forward, that touch to her belly.

  But she didn’t hate it.

  In fact, it gave her that helium feeling again. Biting her lip, so fucking into this man, Calle almost didn’t realize he’d stopped at the mouth of the hall.

  She lifted her brows in question.

  He gestured to her waist.

  Frowning, she glanced down, but didn’t see anything awry and looked back up, shrugging. He was too far away for her to hear his sigh, but she knew he had anyway. But then he lifted his arms to the side and mimed . . .

  Oh.

  He mimed putting his hands in pockets before gesturing at her to do the same.

  “What the—” She began but then her hands were in her pockets . . . and they were toasty warm. He’d slipped her hand warmers without her knowing. More care. More watching out for her.

  Helium.

  Hope.

  Her eyes lifted, but he’d already gone through, and she was alone in the hallway with toasty warm hands.

  Although, was she really alone when she had a man like Coop in her corner?

  Peanut butter M&Ms in her laptop bag.

  She pulled out the red bag with a shake of her head.

  Coop had gone out to dinner with Brit, Stefan, and Max, but she’d stayed in, tired after a late night of travel and the press she’d done today.

  And he was still taking care of her.

  Shaking her head, Calle crawled into bed, taking her cell and the bag of candy with her.

  How’d you know?

  He replied to her text in seconds. Which was probably rude because he was out to dinner with friends, but she was selfish enough to be happy that he’d responded so quickly.

  More danger.

  But she was ignoring the internal warning and focusing on how good it felt to be the center of Coop’s universe.

  Even if being that center might not last.

  I’d have to have been an idiot to miss your shrine to peanut butter at your place.

  Okay, so maybe she’d gone a bit overboard in her pregnancy stash buying, but fuck, if the baby didn’t enjoy peanut butter, too.

  It had been the only thing she hadn’t puked up during those miserable weeks.

  You’re observant.

  A buzz.

  It’s not a big deal.

  Her response was rapid.

  It is to me.

  His response came just as quickly.

  I’m glad, but also, it’s not hard to discover what your woman likes if you’re paying attention. Anyone who doesn’t is a douchebag.

  Well, apparently, she’d only ever dated douchebags.

  But then again, she already knew that, didn’t she?

  So, you haven’t kissed me in a while.

  A beat.

  Technically you haven’t kissed ME in a while either.

  She smiled.

  Come to my room when you get back, and I’ll get on it.

  Can’t. Bernard’s still playing chaperone.

  *sad face* Not even for a goodnight kiss?

  *two sad faces* I like my balls where they are, and I think you’ll feel the same if you really think about it.

  Calle sighed and then yawned.

  Fine. Well, then, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.

  Rest up, love.

  Love.

  Her heart skipped a beat, but then she opened her tablet, intending to put on an old episode of SVU to fall asleep to when she saw it.

  It being the stat-tracking app she’d mentioned in passing, the one she’d been waffling about ordering because it had an annual membership fee of ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, and that was about ninety-eight dollars more than she’d ever spent on any app.

  She clicked the icon and immediately fell in love.

  It was everything she’d wanted, ticked all of the boxes for things she’d dreamed about.

  Instantly in love.

  Only, she didn’t think she was talking about the app at all.

  Fifteen

  Coop

  “Psst!” Max hissed.

  Coop looked up from his stall, and his teammate gave him a nod.

  “Thanks,” he mouthed, knowing he’d owe him one.

  Operation Out-Stubborn had transformed into Operation Woo and because his team were a bunch of nosy assholes—and also really cool—they were on his side. Well, that and Calle had apparently told Mandy who’d told Brit about the carrot cake and the peanut butter M&Ms and the app and . . . well, the jig had been up when he’d sat next to her on the plane, but now it was really up.

  The side benefit was that now he had backup.

  Of the Brit, Stefan, Mike, Max, Mandy, and the dual-Rebeccas sort. And that didn’t even count the head trainer, Gabe, telling him to “Keep at it, because it’s worth it in the end” or Blue’s fist bump when he saw Coop delivering a peanut-butter slathered bagel to Calle’s office that morning.

  Whatever the title, his plan was working.

  Calle had opened the door a sliver, and he was working on nudging it just a millimeter wider at a time until he had full access.

  And the team was helping.

  Max included.

  Calle was currently on the other side of the room, talking to Blue while Max accomplished his task. Mostly because when she’d walked into the room, she’d pointed a finger at Coop and told him to behave.

  Which made the room at large cackle.

  Because they’d all seen the giant jar of peanut butter he’d bought and left outside her office door before the game. Mostly because they’d had to walk by it—a jaunty red bow wrapped around its lid—to get to the ice.

  “How am I supposed to get that home?” she’d asked, stopping two feet inside the room, hands plunking onto her hips as she glared at him.

  “I figured you’d finish it before the next plane ride.”

  Narrowed eyes, upturned lips, and then finally . . . finally she met him in the middle. Well, the side, anyway. She’d crossed the space and laid a kiss on him that had the whole room catcalling before she released him and calmly walked to the other side of the space, as though she regularly kissed him in front of a gaggle of hockey players.

  After his pulse had settled, he’d glanced at Max.

  His friend was already prepp
ed and had slipped out to leave just one more thing outside her office.

  The perfect complement to the peanut butter . . . or at least that was what she’d tried to convince him of the night before—that there was no snack more perfect than peanut butter and apples.

  So, he gave her both.

  He couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

  Slowly, she made her rounds with the offense as everyone removed their equipment and took their turns in the shower. She checked in with everyone except for him. Or rather, she left him for last, he realized, when she came to sit next to him, iPad in hand.

  They went through a few clips Dani, the video coach, had pulled and then her face got soft and she cupped his cheek. “You’re too sweet,” she murmured.

  He held her eyes. “You deserve sweet.”

  She slowly inhaled. “I’m starting to believe that.” Her eyes flicked around the space. Most of the team had already finished changing and were heading off to complete their post-game routines, so the space was mostly empty. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “What could you possibly be thanking me for?”

  “I don’t know.” She pushed to her feet. “Maybe the peanut butter or the candy or the cake?”